2.

In solitude, yet not alone,
She liv'd, with nought to do but weep:
Oh, better had she been a stone
O'er whose old age old mosses creep!
For emerald shadows with them dwell,
And lonely sunbeams love them well.
Ever, " My child! my child! " she said,
And loath'd her food, her hearth, her bed;
And could not bear to keep
Within her cot, by day or night;
But, like a cloud that cannot sleep,
Abroad, with darkness dwelt and light,
And with the dews that pitied her.
And with the winds that sooth'd her sadness;
A homed, yet homeless sufferer,
Watch'd by the sun, the moon, the grey
Of moonless night, and sunless day:
And watch'd by Adwick's madness.

3.

If chanc'd the warm autumnal skies
To lure the adder from its bed,
(Where the bog-myrtle's fruit turn'd red,
Or violets, blowing late, smell'd sweet,
And the bank slop'd, the morn to meet,)
Green, blaz'd its never-closing eyes;
" Still is she here! " the adder said,
And, like an eye-glance, vanished.